His Own Man
by Catherine Cook
Summary: In which Hermione ducks back into the tunnel after Harry takes Snape's memories to the headmaster's Pensieve, and finds something she didn't expect.


Harry sprinted for the headmaster's study, flask in hand. Ron and Hermione would have gone with him, but there was too much to be done where they were: Too many dead bodies, including a brother of Ron's, too many wounded...

Ron ran over to comfort his sobbing mother, in the hopes perhaps of keeping from sobbing himself. Hermione looked around at the chaos, and felt helpless, unneeded. Something was nagging at her, at the back of her head. Something telling her to go back the way she had just come. Something not yet finished.

In the confusion, and with Ron preoccupied, she slipped away. It would only be for a moment...

Going back into the tunnel was easier this time. She entered the room where Snape's body was; she knew he was dead, and he was their enemy besides, it was pointless for her to be doing this...

A whisper in her mind, so faint that she almost didn't catch it:

_Miss...Granger... _

He was alive. Oh God, he was alive. Only just, but maybe... just maybe...

Enemy or no, she was sick of death. She wanted one victory, even a small one, even a fleeting one, to throw in Voldemort's teeth. And there was this small part of her that said that anyone Voldemort would kill so wantonly would no longer be Voldemort's friend.

She knelt besides Snape, putting her hands on his wounds, willing a healing of some sort into him, praying without words to any deities that could hear her. Power flowed from her and into him.

_Miss Granger_, he mind-whispered again, this time a touch stronger.

_Professor? _

_Where is Potter? _

_In the headmaster's study. _

_Good._ A pause. _Why aren't you there with him? _

_I couldn't let you die, sir. _

_I will, anyway. We both will, unless Potter destroys the snake. _

_We're working on that._

Her eyes caught sight of a small niche in the wall. On an impulse, she got up from Snape to see what it held.

Merlin's beard and stones. Bottles of healing potions, including blood-replacement potions. Muggle-style gauze bandages and wraps. And bread and water, kept under a preservation spell.

Of course. Remus as a boy would have needed them, to heal the wounds he incurred during the change, and he couldn't always make it to the Hospital Wing in time. He probably had these scattered all through the tunnel.

Hermione grabbed the bottles and brought them to Snape. She chose to open the healing potion first.

_Are you strong enough to drink?_ she asked, raising up his feet so that what blood was in him would be in his head.

_Perhaps... if you assist... _

She tipped back his head, pouring in the potion slowly, very slowly, making sure it went into the right pipe. He wasn't able to swallow, but as long as it went to the right place...

Just the touch of it on his tongue seemed to help; he was soon able to swallow. His breathing, which had been so shallow as to be undetectable, grew stronger. The wounds didn't seem to gape so badly.

Hermione took one of the bandages, sterilized it with a charm, then smeared some of the potion on it before she placed it on the wounds; she then took an elastic wrap and used it to hold the bandage in place. She gave him water, the blood-replacement potion, and even a little bit of bread, then stood up abruptly.

_I have to go now. They need me. _

_Yes. Go help Potter. _

_I will. I'll be back, if we win. _

_If we win... _

But she was already racing back down the tunnel.

------------

Snape, his feet propped up under him by a bit of wood, pondered his situation. It seemed as if he had all the time in the world, yet he knew that this was just a reprieve. Even with the anti-venin and other catholicons he habitually took, Nagini's magically-powered venom would soon overpower the healing potion; he would start to bleed again. But at least he was a bit more comfortable than before. He owed Miss Granger that much. Together, they cheated the Dark Lord out of a few extra minutes of life for him...

A sudden thrill went through his body. Immediately, he felt the cursed magic of Nagini's venom dissipate like a cloud of mist hit by the sun.

_Someone's killed the serpent_, he realized.

He felt his neck wounds start to seal up as the healing potion, no longer blocked by Nagini's magic, went fully to work. It was something he didn't dare even to think, for fear of jinxing himself. But he lay still on the floor of the room, resting, letting the potions and the food and water do what good they could. Rest for now. Rest is best. What happens outside is not under your control now...

He allowed himself to fall into slumber, into unconsciousness, but not without a final thought:

_Thank you, Miss Granger... _

-----------------

"_Hermione!_ Where _were_ you?"

"In the tunnel, Ron --"

"_What?!_"

"Here," she said, shoving a bottle into his hand. "Healing potion. Remus kept it stored in niches throughout the tunnel. Give it to whoever needs it." Hermione wasn't about to tell Ron that another bottle had just went down Snape's gullet; he would kill her for having helped the enemy.

"You scared me -- we couldn't find you -- "

"Well, I'm here now. Come on."

-----------------

"He was here, Kingsley, I swear!"

"I believe you, Harry. But I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord or his minions came back to feed him to Nagini or do some other such foulness." Shacklebolt gave the room one last sweeping look. "In any event, he's not here now."

_No, he isn't_, thought Hermione with an increasing wave of happiness. Not only was he gone, but he'd tidied up after himself and disposed of the bottles. He'd also, she noticed, found the niches in the other end of the tunnel, and availed himself of their contents, as she'd hoped he would.

Hermione leaned against a wall and breathed a sigh of relief. She had made the right choice, in not telling Harry -- or anyone else -- that Snape was still alive. She had suspected that he would want not to be found, and she didn't blame him one bit. Even with Harry's ringing endorsement of the man in front of the Dark Lord and virtually the entire staff and student population of Hogwarts, there were still going to be some who hated him. And there would be plenty of his former friends who would hate him for secretly working for Dumbledore all along.

She would, later, tell Harry what she knew. But she wanted to make sure that Snape had a good head start. Let him have a clean break from all of this. Let him have a life he can call his own. Even if she never saw him again, it was still a victory: He could live and die on his own terms, not Voldemort's, not Dumbledore's. For once in his life, he would be his own man.

---------------------

The Granger surgery was humming with the sound of dental drills and suction pumps, the Doctors G. having returned from their extended second honeymoon in Australia. Finances had been a touch tight at first, but the money they'd laid by, along with the pension Hermione received from the Ministry for her efforts in the war, helped tide things over until things were set up right again.

Hermione and Ron had stopped by with Arthur Weasley for a visit, and because of the elder Weasley's incurable fascination with all things Muggle and mechanical. He winced a bit at the sound of the drills, but was reassured when Hermione's dad let him have a whiff of nitrous oxide. He was so reassured, in fact, that Hermione had to hit him with a Sobering Spell before they could get him to stand upright.

"Oh, dear," Hermione's mother muttered, watching Arthur's unsteady form. "Hermione, be a dear and run over to Vino's to tell them we'll be a little late for lunch, won't you? They'll hold our table if you ask."

"Why not just call them?"

Her mother snorted. "We tried that once, but Sergio can't understand English over the phone unless it's dead quiet at his end and you enunciate at yours."

Hermione laughed. "All right, Mum," she said, giving her mother a peck on the cheek as she went out the door. "I'll be back straightaway."

It was a fine summer day; there had been some rain earlier, but it had cleared out, leaving behind cleared air and bright sunshine. Vito's restaurant was only a block away, and it was the Grangers' favorite lunch spot.

Several months had passed since Voldemort's final defeat. Things weren't perfect -- there had been a few incidents of hard-liner Death Eaters trying for revenge attacks, and there was still a tremendous amount of things to do in terms of recovery and recuperation. But they were infinitely infinitely better than they had been. A great weight was gone, and with it gone, Hermione almost felt as if she could fly as she walked.

There was a movement in front of her. "Excuse me, miss," said a man in a coal-black Burberry trench coat. Hermione turned to look at the man -- and gasped.

"Hello, Miss Granger."

It was him, definitely him. He'd got his hair cut to collar length, and it wasn't lank and greasy any more, but it was still him.

"You're alive."

He smiled. "I am. Thanks to you."

"Are you happy?"

"I am." A pause. "Thanks to you."

"Do you want to be found?"

"No. At least, not as I was. I'm not that person any more."

"May I keep in touch with you?"

"You may." He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. Hermione studied it and smiled. "David G. Prince, vintner," she read aloud, then looked up at him, shining like the sun. "Thank you, thank you so much."

"No, thank you, Miss Granger."

"Please -- Hermione."

He gave her a version of his old smirk. "Very well then, Hermione. You may call me David."

"Thank you, David."

They both stood and looked at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

"I must be going... but I look forward to hearing from you, Hermione. Until later."

"Until later."

She watched him as he walked briskly down the street.


End file.
